Honour Among Theives
by missoptimist
Summary: Port Royal is struck by a thief known only as the Magpie. But how is the Magpie connected to the staff of The Black Rabbit Inn, and the famous Jack Sparrow? Why is the EITC showing an interest? T for piratey language/violence in later chapters.
1. A Magpie and a Silver Spoon

Honour Among Thieves

Chapter One - A Magpie and a Silver Spoon.

There were whispers in Port Royal that had been growing for many weeks, now almost a roar. They became stronger as they grew, acquired a tinge of fear, and the pervasive nature of the breeze that creeps through all the cracks in your windows, chilling you despite how you might try to block it out. For in Port Royal, wherever you went, you could not move far without hearing the word 'Magpie' in your ear. A newcomer would hear it flickering amongst the hardy Dockers as he stepped down the gangplank. As he passed through the crowded market, it would leap from every corner. And yes, even as he nursed a cup of rum in the corner of some tavern, the Magpie would be there, humming on everybody's lips.

And yet, who was the Magpie? Some said he could fly; others that he could turn invisible and blend with the hot night air, and that was why he had never yet been caught, not in Port Royal or anywhere else in Jamaica. They said 'You cannot find him', they said 'You cannot hear him', and they said 'You're lucky if you can even see him'. Governor Swan began issuing rewards for his capture with one hand and passing around edicts declaiming him as myth with the other. What was real enough was that the richest citizens of the port often woke to find their homes ransacked, silently and with great professionalism. Men found more and more mercenary work as guards; protecting the town's silver from the greedy Magpie.

The Magpie himself considered all these things as he crouched behind a chimney stack. He was swathed in loose black clothes, almost invisible in the shadows, which he took some comfort in, for the night was not moonless. But it was cloudy, and he had judged it a safe enough risk to venture out, because this was _the_night, the biggest adventure yet. There was no wind to disturb the inky sky, and a blanket of darkness lay over the town. The Magpie scratched at the back of his neck irritably, adjusting the bandanna that served as a mask. That was the worst part of it really, he thought. The mask made his face hot, particularly as he wore a large tri-cornered hat on top of it, pulled low. But he couldn't risk anyone seeing his face, even if he was fast. And he needed to be fast now.

He stifled a yawn as he waited, looking down the hill and seeing how still the town was now. How silent. And yet how strong the undercurrents were; how disturbed the people of Port Royal were becoming. Not the normal people so much, he thought, with a crooked smile. They knew they were safe, they knew the Magpie was a friend. But the rich snobs, the ones who turned their noses up at the mass of humans in the market place, the ones who attended executions at the fort and left smudges of delicate face powder behind, they were _definitely _worried. And it amused him. Below him the Magpie heard the tramp of footsteps, as the guard passed across the gravelled drive before the front door, on his leisurely route around the house. The Magpie began counting under his breath, sliding down the incline of the roof with the silent and precise movements of a cat. He had just less than four minutes to get inside Governor Swan's house...

*

But many months before, before the Magpie raised his head in Port Royal, what was there?

For the barmaid known as Little Meena, there was washing up, like there was on many days. Not that the clientele of the The Black Rabbit were particularly bothered what state their mugs were in, so long as they arrived with ale, or sweet sticky rum in them. Meena always tried to get it done in the morning, so that most of the assortment of mugs, plates and the odd pieces of cutlery were cleaned ready for the evening. It was a difficult process. The fire had to be stoked high to warm up pots and buckets of water, that were then sloshed into the smallish trough, at the back of the kitchen, that The Rabbit used as a kind of sink. Meena didn't see the point really, it made no never mind to her or most people whether their bowl was clean or not. But Peter insisted that The Rabbit should have standards. Whatever he meant by that.

So there she was, up to her elbows in warm water that by now had a thin patina of grease floating on the top. She wiped the last plate down, so battered and dented it could have been an odd shaped bowl, and left it with the stack of others to dry. Wiping her hands down on her apron, she was about to go and help Mamma, the cook, make a start on the gumbo for later, when something caught her eye, glinting through the bottom of the used washing water. Dipping her hand tentatively back into the sink, Meena looked in surprise at the silver spoon she found clutched in her hand, dripping dirty water and shining brightly. It certainly didn't belong to The Black Rabbit, but nor did it belong to the type of person that came there. Meena ran off to find Peter, curious, and more than a little puzzled. Peter knew the answers to everything.


	2. The Close Call of Sharp Charlie

_As you can see, this is a much longer chapter, so hurrah. Thanks to the people who have read thus far, please read and review, it is afterall what we're here for! Also, since Norrington appears here I should place my disclaimer, to whit: I claim no claims on James Norrington or any other characters from the original PotC movies, they are all the work and property of Disney/Bruckheimer etc. But Port Royal was a real place so I don't have to disclaim that. All the staff of The Rabbit, as well as Sharp Charlie, are MINE ALL MINE!_

Chapter 2: The Close Call of Sharp Charlie

If you frequented The Black Rabbit, and managed to stay sober and sensible, and had more than a few brain cells to rub together, which not many of the visitors of The Rabbit did, then you might notice something odd about the staff. That something odd was this: apart from their place of work, they had not one thing in common between them. They were completely different people, unrelated and unalike, yet somehow they had come together.

If you were a little more sharp eyed, however, you would notice something else about all of them, from Mamma Marie, who was a wiry old French-Jamaican woman, to fastidiously clean and polite Peter, through the couple of occasional staff and right down to Little Meena, who was all of twenty-one. Whatever hour of the day or night, whatever business they were about and whoever they were with, everyone at The Black Rabbit made sure to keep their right wrist covered. They were drawn together by their shared murky past, none of them knowing the complete truth about any of the others, and they were content to let it stay that way, not being talkative folk as a rule. Besides which, Port Royal now came very much under the control of the East India Trading Company, and the more people knew about you the more likely you were to be caught. But people aren't generally sharp eyed, so it's of no consequence.

That being said, The Black Rabbit was a friendly doorway for many a man, or woman, who found themselves having to spend a few nights in Port Royal and had nowhere understanding or discreet enough to do it. The very moment Little Meena was looking out Peter there were more than half a dozen men asleep in the eaves, all late of a skiff that had come in on the other side of the island the day before. They were looking to leave town with the evening tide in two nights, when a ship that ran lower in the water than you'd expect would be dropping of a cargo of suspiciously cheap goods, before leaving again as fast as she could. Meena was happy enough to cater to what Peter called 'the guests in the upstairs rooms', but always found herself a little more on edge than usual when they were in residence. Some of them made a lot of noise for people trying to stay hidden.

It took Meena a little while to find Peter. When the inn was busy he was normally at the bar, in the kitchen, or threading his way between the two. When it was quiet he would disappear into the Rabbit Warrens, the maze of back rooms and forgotten corridors that made up the bulk of The Black Rabbit. Although it was a large building, it hadn't originally been built as an inn, but three houses a hair's breadth from each other. As more settlers had arrived, and Santiago became the British Port Royal, the houses had been put together, built and rebuilt, with rooms partitioned and then closed off altogether. It was why the Black Rabbit was such a good place to hide the slightly unsavoury that passed through. Peter in his turn had knocked down walls to make more whole rooms for accommodation, but for the most part had left it untouched. He rather liked it, and spent a lot of time getting to know the Warrens.

Meena fully expected to have to search high and low for hours to find him, but after only fifteen minutes of poking her head into crawl spaces and priest holes she heard Peter laugh in a room above her. There she found him, a slight man with a gentle voice to match, with his feet up on a stool talking happily with Harry. Harry had looked after Meena for as long as she could remember, but was getting old now, old enough to be losing his teeth and much of his memory. He had no hair save a thick beard that was totally white, with bushy eyebrows to match, contrasting starkly with his nut brown skin. They had arrived in Port Royal when Meena was 14 years old and taken rooms at The Black Rabbit, but soon became so much part of the furniture that board was no longer asked for and Meena began working there. Harry was still in that same room, and today he was sat on the end of his bed. The two men turned as she walked in.

"Ah, blast you all! Can't I get peace for a moment? People burst in every five minutes. I'm an old man, I am!" Harry protested, smiling all the same and opening his arms for a hug.

Peter laughed, straightening his shirt cuffs, a habit of his. "We're sorry Harry, but you _are _good company after all." Peter was sometimes called 'His Majesty' when he wasn't listening. His soft precise manner of speaking, coupled with his attention to detail and the extreme care he took about his person, made Meena sure that while he was living low, he wasn't born it. Even as she stood up from hugging Harry, Peter was smoothing his greying ponytail.

"We was just getting to talkin' about the guests you've taken in at the minute," said Harry, winking slyly to make sure Meena knew who he was referring to. "Seems to me it might be gettin' a bit more troublesome, having naughty persons around. I don't like that new Gov'ner, not one bit I don't. Too eager to get things done, he is."

"He's not exactly new." Meena said gently. "Governor Swan has been here nearly three years now. Not so much has changed."

Peter looked thoughtful. "Well, there are certainly a few more of those blasted redcoats about the streets. Harry might be right. He's seen too much in his time for us to ignore the things he says. Aye, Harry?"

Harry spat a cardamon seed into a corner of the room. He chewed them to keep his breath fresh, a habit he'd picked up in some far off Arabian country when he was younger. "Aye, right enough!" he said happily.

Meena giggled at him. "I promise I'll keep a sharp look out Harry."

"What was it you were wanting though Meena? Apart from my sparkling company of course." Peter smiled affectionately at her.

"Oh!" Meena brought a slim hand up to her mouth, and held the other out for them to see the shining spoon. "I almost forgot. I found some sunken treasure, look."

Peter took the spoon from her and examined it closely, turning it this way and that, and holding it in the light from the high window.

"I can't see any crest on it, any marks to denote its owner." A slight frown creased his forehead as he passed it over to Harry.

"Definitely silver you've found though, my Little Meena." Harry said, fixing it in his sharp blue gaze and scratching it slightly with a cracked fingernail.

"Well what should I do with it?" Meena asked, accepting it back.

Peter shrugged. "Keep it. It's pretty. We can't put it with the other scraps of tin, it's sure to be lifted in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

"String it round your neck," said Harry, winking at her. "Might bring good luck." He began to fill his ancient pipe, a signal Meena took to mean it was time for her to leave. This she did in good order, and went to find something to hang her new spoon on.

* * *

Harry's misgivings about the overzealous Governor Swan proved that night to be alarmingly prophetic.

The Black Rabbit was packed on most evenings, even weeknights, because Peter didn't ask questions as long as you paid up and didn't break the furniture. That night was no exception. Meena was rushed almost off her feet, uncomfortable enough in her full skirts without the sticky heat of a room packed full of sweating people. If Peter hadn't prevented her from doing so, she would have worn trousers, like she had as a little girl running around with Harry, but Peter said society demanded certain things she had to comply with.

She and Peter ran the bar, pouring and pulling as fast as they could. Whenever they found a spare moment, one of them would scurry over to help Mamma in the other corner, who was passing out bowls of her gumbo – for a price. It made Meena laugh to hear her cursing loudly in French whenever somebody tried to cheat her in the barely controlled chaos.

As the night wore on, Peter pulled her to one side. "Would you be so kind as to take some gumbo, and a bottle of rum, and see to our guests upstairs? Quickly now, I'll be busy without you."

Meena dutifully took a tray and balanced seven steaming bowls on it, holding the rum awkwardly by the neck in three fingers of one hand. She slipped along the back wall to avoid as much jostling as she could, and headed quickly upstairs. The climb to the attic space was made more difficult with full hands, but luckily it was reached with a steep flight of stairs rather than a ladder. Seven pairs of eyes in dark corners greeted her. This far up the noise of the bar almost couldn't be heard, and it was eerily silent.

"Ah now, here's an exotic Caribbean flower for us lads!" said a lyrical Irish voice, singing out from the shadows. "Born here were you, me darlin'?"

Meena glared, knowing she was being teased. Although she never knew her parents, she recognised in herself the picture of an English girl; her hair was mouse brown, her skin lightly freckled. She did have uncommonly well formed cheek bones, high and proud, and expressive dark eyes, but for all that, Meena was more plain than she was pretty.

"I don't _have _to feed you, you know." She snapped. "There are plenty of people downstairs who'd thank me for this, and pay me as well."

"Charlie didn't mean to upset yer," said another of the men. "He just has no manners when talking wiv women folk. Say sorry to the nice girl, Charlie."

Charlie came forwards to take the tray, which Meena was grateful for, because she was about to drop the bottle of rum. He was tall, almost too tall to stand properly against the slope of the roof, and quite thin, so he gave the impression of a young foal; too many joints to be comfortable. Sandy hair fell around his face, so unwashed that it had almost matted to dreadlocks, obscuring almost all his features.

"Please, accept my humble apologies, I forgot myself most terribly." He flashed a brief grin. "Most of the boys call me Sharp Charlie on account of I am." He took the tray without breaking eye contact. "Sharp, I mean."

Feeling a blush creeping up the side of her face, Meena backed away. Sharp Charlie looked to her to be the wrong side of thirty, and was flirting just to amuse himself, but it was male attention nonetheless, and some she was none too pleased to be on the receiving end of. She almost fell down the stairs in her eagerness to escape, with male laughter ringing in her ears. Charlie's was most prominent of all.

Hurrying back towards the bar, Meena suddenly stopped. Everything was very quiet. By now she should have been able to hear laughter, shouting, and other noises to indicate general carousing was on going. But it was silent. She crept along the hallway, keeping to the wall till she reached the top of the stairs, where she peeked round.

The room was lined with soldiers. Peter was pressed against his own bar by a bayonet, but was still managing to splutter with rage.

"This is ridiculous! You have no right to come in here and treat honest people this way!" He was addressing a man near the foot of the stairs, who, fortunately, was not looking up them. Meena couldn't see his face as he turned to reply to Peter, but the shiny new braid and brass buttons on his uniform told her it was probably the newly promoted Admiral Norrington.

"Spot checks, my good man, spot checks." He said briskly. "As you say, I'm sure these are honest people, and of course honest people have nothing to fear, do they? Come on men." Norrington indicated a group of soldiers to follow him upstairs. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

Meena had just enough time to see that Harry was downstairs, had spotted her, and was giving her a look that had distinct tones of 'Didn't I tell you?' before she ran back down the hall as silently as she could. She knew that Norrington would be delayed a while as he got caught up searching the Warrens, but she couldn't risk that he'd give up before he reached the attic. Her fears were confirmed when she heard a cry of "From the top down, I think men!" behind her.

She scrambled through the rooms, nearly falling again on her way back _up_ the stairs and almost landing in a heap in Sharp Charlie's lap.

"Back again so soon? I have that affect sometimes, don't be alarmed." He smiled, putting down his half finished gumbo and starting to laugh.

Meena gulped down air, barely able to speak. "Soldiers... there's... soldiers!"

There were immediate cries of 'Jesus!' and various invocations of Hell as the men jumped up and began looking for escape routes. Meena kept control of herself enough to show them which of the sash windows opened onto the roof, and they began sliding out with great speed. Sharp Charlie remained horribly calm.

"What are you doing? Get _out_ of here!" Meena cried, giving him a shove.

"Ah we'll be fine. I can't hear 'em yet, and I wanted to know your name." He said, with a wicked grin as he leaned in closer. Meena reflexively leaned further back. She drew breath at the same time as the door flew open and Norrington strolled in, followed by two armed men. There were sounds of crashes as other doors were forced open below. Charlie didn't lose his smile.

"Well well well, what have we here?" Meena opened and shut her mouth like a fish as the soldiers levelled their weapons.

Sharp Charlie stepped smartly forward. "Ah well now, I'm the nephew of your man Peter downstairs, me mother married an Irishman you see, brought such a _shame_ on the family it did, I heard as how Granny up and died over it, but Peter said he'd give me room and board, only not in the proper rooms as it were, seeing as how I wouldn't be paying like. Being family, you know. This lass was just getting me all settled up, weren't you now?" He barely drew breath, and even walked towards Norrington with his hand extended.

Norrington looked at it with distaste, before his eyes took in the rest of the scene. "One guest," he said carefully, with a cold smile on his thin face, "_Seven_ bowls?"

Charlie's eyes glittered green in the dim light. "I'm a hungry lad after travelling."

Norrington smiled again. "Well then, we'd best be off. I have a feeling we should perhaps search outside now." He headed for the doorway, but paused. "Oh, if I hear you've suddenly left town without explanation... well, you wouldn't want to incriminate a pretty girl like this would you? Particularly one with such interesting jewellery." And with that he was gone.

Meena clutched at the spoon which hung cold against her neck, on a scrap of cord she had managed to find. Sharp Charlie screwed his face up, finally betraying some emotion, and not quite sure how to express it.

"Oh...oh _arse!_" he shouted, with some feeling.


	3. Feeling Our Way

_Chapter the third. Took a bit longer (I basically had the first two already done) As an Easter Egg for anyone interested, Cap'n Jack will be appearing right soon :) Also, likewise for anyone interested, I personally imagine Sharp Charlie sounding a bit like Jimmy Nesbitt as Hyde in that Godawful 'Jekyll' on tv recently. _

* * *

Chapter Three: Feeling Our Way

As soon as the last red coattails whisked out of the door, Peter began hustling most of the customers after them. To close The Rabbit totally would draw a lot of attention and be an unnecessary cut in profits; on the other hand, there was a Situation underway, a complex one that deserved his attention. Only a few of the old guard were left, citizens of Port Royal that Peter knew he could trust to do nothing, save sit at the bar and drink with a quiet desperation. Meena came down the stairs, Sharp Charlie in tow, as the front door was being firmly shut.

Silently, Meena made her way around the last patrons, making sure they had enough left in their bottles to keep them happy. Deaf tonight and dumb tomorrow. Peter had already drawn five chairs up to a table in the corner. She sat next to Mamma; Charlie smoothly took the chair next to her whilst Peter was helping Harry down on Mamma's other side.

Harry opened proceedings by spitting on the floor before staring hard at Charlie.

"First things first, who are yer?"

"Charles Anveray, but most folks call me Charlie, or Sharp Charlie. Sometimes just Sharp. "

Harry scratched under his chin. "Anveray, eh? Think I sailed with yer pa, once. Long time ago though. And what's become of him?"

Charlie clutched a hand to his heart dramatically. "Ah, sir, last I heard he was stone dead, a lyin' at the bottom of the sea somewhere. Poor bastard never learned to swim, so he didn't."

"Aye, well there's many that haven't," replied Harry philosophically. "It's alright as long as you don't fall in. Any son of Willy Anvery is alright by me, and I reckon we can help you a while yet."

"Much obliged to you sir," said Charlie, touching his forelock. His subservient manner was beginning to irritate Meena; she felt he wasn't taking them seriously. "But I'd rather go after me friends if that's agreeable to you, and see them right, as it were."

Meena turned to him and glared. "You're more stupid than I bloody thought!" She snapped. "Don't you think Norrington will be waiting for you to do that? He wants you to lead those bloody redcoats right to your mates. And what about the very last thing he said to us? If you skip out now then he'll have us all arrested, 'cause he _knows_ we're up to no good, and he _knows _you're a pirate. And I ain't going in a cell on account of _you_, Sharp Charlie." Charlie looked taken aback. Apparently he wasn't expecting her to be quite so outspoken.

Peter leaned forwards and broke his silence, having apparently been deep in thought. "I'm afraid Little Meena's right, Charles. You'll have to hope the others got away until we hear more, and stay with us for the moment. Although that presents almost as many problems as you going would." He chuckled a little. "Damned if you do and damned if you don't."

Sharp Charlie flashed his wicked grin. "Well, I'd sooner be damned for doing anyhow."

Mamma rapped her sharp knuckles on the table for attention. "One of yu is gon' have ta go ta de docks. They's gon' check ta see who's come in de last few days. An' I'll get de word from market in de mornin'. From here we's gon' have ta feel our way forwards, an' it's just all we can do."

Mamma, as usual, had found a solution that would work, for now. Although she reckoned she was older than Harry (and they couldn't be sure, since neither of them kept much of a track on their age) she looked younger. She was terribly thin, although she had the inner strength that many old people do, and a quiet authority about her that had many people obeying her orders before they realised what they were doing. The daughter of a Jamaican native and a French merchant sailor from many years ago, Mamma had left home when she was seventeen, seeing and doing many things before she returned again. Apart from all of that, she was an excellent cook, and Peter thought very highly of her. He nodded at Mamma's words.

"Right. I'll go down to the docks and see if a few shillings will find enough space for Charlie in the books. Meena, _you_ go and find bedding for him. Mamma and Harry can keep an eye on the bar."

They shoved back their chairs, Sharp Charlie grinning at Meena's obvious annoyance and Peter heading swiftly towards his coat and hat.

"Make sure you're not followed, alright?" Meena called, as he slipped out of the door. She turned to find Charlie grinning down at her from a few inches away.

"Ready to help bed me down, sweetheart?" he asked, but Meena was already stalking away, muttering varied curses under her breath.

The process of making the attic more comfortable for Sharp Charlie was a difficult one. He had spent the previous day wedged in a corner, dozing up against one of the supporting beams, but that clearly wouldn't do for a prolonged visit. Meena refused to give up one of the actual bedrooms to him, which she insisted were reserved for those willing to pay for the privilege, but they reached a compromise by pulling one of the mattresses from a bed in a back room. It took quite a while to manoeuvre it through the warrens and up the steep attic stairwell, and Meena fell out of breath onto it once they had it installed. Charlie stretched leisurely out on his makeshift bed next to her, eyeing her panting frame.

"Well, I can't say it's the first time I've had a girl-"

"Oh would you just be quiet!" Meena cut him off, leaping up and storming from the room.

Lying in her own bed that night Meena almost didn't sleep, for worry about Peter, and the embarrassment and vexation Sharp Charlie was causing her. She was even angrier that she allowed his comments to make her feel embarrassed. Her last thought as she eventually drifted off near dawn was that she wasn't looking forwards to having him around.

* * *

Over the next few days, they managed to settle into a kind of routine. Peter had smoothed Sharp Charlie's transition into port, mainly by creating one in the first place, and the inn was running as normal once more. So far there had been no word on Charlie's shipmates, and as Harry had pointed out, no news was good news. For Meena, there were only two distressing reminders that anything was out of place. The first was that every day a redcoat would come in and enquire after Mr. Anveray's health. As yet they had no firm evidence of Charlie's piratical background or escapades, so all they did was monitor his movements throughout Port Royal.

The second was Charlie himself. The man refused to stay put in his room, and his presence annoyed Meena thoroughly. What was worse was that she was the only one it did. Sharp Charlie was extremely personable. He tasted every one of Mamma's dishes and declared them all excellent; he helped Peter behind the bar and chatted merrily to all the customers; he spent hours laughing and swapping stories with Harry, who in turn had, after a night over indulging on the rum, declared Sharp Charlie to be like the son he'd 'always wanted but never had.' It drove Meena half mad to see how popular he had become, and she never laughed, never cracked a smile if Charlie was in the room.

Charlie had at first made efforts to be friendly and flirtatious with Meena, as he was with anything in a skirt that happened to be within six feet of him. Eventually however her constant rebuffs and harsh remarks drove him to disliking her in return. They avoided each other, and made short clipped remarks or snide comments if forced into conversation. Meena had never met anyone who irritated her as thoroughly as Charlie, and Charlie had never met anyone so impervious to his charms. The situation came to a head eventually, on an afternoon five days after Sharp Charlie's arrival, when he stopped Meena as she was leaving her room.

"Listen," he said, looking hard at her. "I know neither of us wants particularly to be in this situation, but I was thinking that it would help if you weren't such a royal fuckin' bitch to me all the time, maybe."

Meena was shocked into silence. "Oh, I of course mean only if you're feeling up to it," he continued. "I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself with the strain, you know, put your back out or anything."

"Well I can't see why anyone would want to be nice to you." Meena hissed back, finding her voice. "You're a filthy bloody pirate, a thief and a murderer who sponges off us. You might be able to talk and act all pretty but I haven't forgotten what you are, Sharp Charlie; you're the scum of the earth _and_ the sea and all, and I'd just as soon spit at you as look at you."

Charlie appeared to consider what she'd said for a moment. "You're right." He replied lightly. "I _am_ a thief, and a murderer. A scallywag, that's what I am, the worst of the worst, and I have done _awful _things to little girls like you."

He suddenly moved closer. Tall as he was, Meena was suddenly afraid, the defiance sucked out of her and replaced by an ice cold block in her stomach. She saw that Charlie's green eyes could not only glitter mischievously, but sparkle with hard menace too.

"I am all the things you said, Little Meena." Charlie grabbed her hand and pulled her arm forwards. He ripped down her sleeve and didn't care for the cry she gave as it tore against her arm.

"Yes, I'm all those things," he repeated, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "But _I _didn't get caught."

He strode away, leaving Meena flushing hot and cold, the branded letter 'P' showing harshly on her thin white arm.


	4. Feverish Dreams

_Ello you lot, sorry it's been a while. Was on holiday doncherknow (I found Blackpool quite fun, but could very happily have lived out my life without ever going). Might be another hiatus while I'm on exam period, but will try to get at least the next chapter out during these next few weeks of A-level run up terror. Also will officially label this as a Cap'n Jack story, because a) he's going to feature prominently from Chapter 5 onwards, and b) I'm unashamedly pimping this fic out and figure that MOAR people might read it if I let them know he's in it. Cheers y'all for reading. Optimist out. _

* * *

Chapter Four: Feverish Dreams

Meena's first reaction was to fall into a near faint against the door behind her, but as it wasn't shut it gave way beneath her, and she had to grab at the wall to stop herself tumbling backwards. This shook her a little back into herself, and she drew several deep panicked breaths as she felt the cold beads of sweat on her forehead. Charlie's accusations brought back dark indistinct memories that shook Meena down to her toes and back to the top of her head again. The truth was that she hid hers brand not only so that others couldn't see it, but so that she could avoid looking at it herself. The sight of it disturbed her in a way she couldn't understand or explain. But Meena was a practical girl, so she busied herself with the tasks at hand to keep her mind from itself.

The first and most immediate problem to deal with was of course replacing her shirt and covering the guilty scar. Scrabbling in her splintering chest of drawers Meena pulled out the first shirt she laid hands on; one of Peter's that had been altered for her. It was faded black and almost comically big, so after a moment's hesitation Meena shredded the already-torn shirt and tied a strip of it around her wrist, lest the sleeves of her new one ride up. She then headed down into the bar to find something to do, preferably some kind of hard labour that wouldn't require her to think much.

As she went into the bar she passed Sharp Charlie, taking up most of the length of a bench at a table. He was lying on his back, legs stretched out and ankles crossed, with his head rested on his arms. The woodwork of the ceiling was being subjected to fixed and intense scrutiny. Meena looked around, slightly dazed and trailing her white shirt, 'til she spotted Mamma, who was berating a local about his tab.

"Mamma?" she said quietly. "Is there anything needs doing? I have time on my hands."

Mamma let go of the patron's collar and paused in her shouting. The poor man looked quite relieved.

"Well chile, dere's a pile o' wood needs choppin' for de fire." She said, grabbing a hold of her victim's collar again as he tried to slink out of his chair. "Hard work for girls like yu an' I though."

"It's alright Mamma." Meena replied. "I'm tougher than I look, and it'll be nice to be outside tonight."

Mamma shrugged. "Off yu go den. But mind yu don' tire too much, dat Charlie will sure try ta take advantage!" She laughed and winked, but Meena was already gone.

She slipped out of the back door unnoticed, breathing in the hot night. The sky was clear and full of stars, but clouds mounting in front of the moon coupled with the prickling pressure of the air told Meena there was a storm coming, and it would break before dawn. The wood was stacked against the back wall of The Black Rabbit, under the drooping eaves so it would be protected at least a little from any rain, and Meena set about freeing the axe from its stump so she could begin.

Splitting firewood was not something Peter usually asked Meena to do, as he worried about her 'feminine constitution' and normally did it himself. Meena had done it before, but only when the supply inside had unexpectedly run out and Peter was busy at the bar. But tonight she went at the logs mercilessly, finding the faint whistle of the axe as it fell and the hollow _crack_ of the wood as it was torn asunder endlessly satisfying. Again and again. _Whistle. Crack. Thud. _She found herself imagining cleaving Sharp Charlie's smug grin in two. _Whistle. Crack. Thud. _Meena didn't notice the deep rumble of thunder, her limbs had grown too hot to feel the rain falling down, and before long she was soaked to the skin.

_Whistle._

_Crack._

_...Thud._

* * *

The next thing Meena felt was a small hand slapping at her face, which was burning white hot. She cracked open her eyes, but winced as the rain fell straight into them. She pulled herself slowly up to lean against the stump, which still held the axe from her last swing. A small boy was looking at her.

"Please Miss!" He said, and Meena realised he was shouting to be heard over the storm. "Please Miss, I'm off the _Lady Rose_. My Cap'n got this from another man who got it from somebody else and I'm to give it to Mister Harry." He pressed something tiny and light into Meena's hand. "Miss?"

Meena waved her arm weakly in the direction of The Rabbit's back door. The cabin boy cursed under his breath and looked around wildly, before disappearing from Meena's line of sight. She blacked out again.

When Meena woke for the second time she was being cradled against somebody's chest, legs dangling and still dripping wet. She could still hear the storm, but it was far off now. This time she burned cold, and was dimly aware she had worked herself into a fever. She moved her head slightly and saw people staring as she was carried through the bar. Charlie looked down at her and saw she was awake.

"Jesus girl, but when you chop would you go and bloody chop it, don't you?" He laughed his old roguish laugh, Meena's collapse having apparently put him back into good spirits.

"Put me down this minute!" she managed to insist weakly, attempting to hit his at his chest. Charlie smiled more gently this time.

"Not this time Little Meena. We may hate each other's guts, or at least that's how it seems to me, but I won't let anybody ever say that Sharp Charlie leaves a lady in distress."

Mamma hurried up alongside Charlie, fussing like a mother hen. "Oh chile, yu was out dere _hours_, why yu gotta do dis ta me?"

They were in her bedroom now, Sharp Charlie was laying her down gently on top of her covers. "Silly bitch. But, well, I doubt you'd've worked yourself up into a faint if I hadn't been so mean to you, so I apologise. Lucky that lad found you, if you'd died out there, why the guilt would have near been killing me. For at least three days." He retreated as Mamma began stripping Meena's sopping clothes off, and finding a clean nightgown.

Once Meena was tucked up in bed, the fever swamped her. Mamma wasn't worried, saying that it had come on so quick it wasn't likely to stay, but she also had a distressing habit of trying to sweat fevers out. Rather than being kept cool, Meena was swathed in blankets, and was barely aware of Mamma sat up in a chair near the bed, knitting quietly and keeping watch.

Hot as she was, Meena still felt her good luck spoon on her chest. Although it was only as long as her index finger it felt immeasurably heavy and ice cold, the silver never seeming to retain any heat. It took on a chilling presence. Meena felt choked by it. It grew heavier and heavier until it crushed her, and pushed her down into the old nightmares of her childhood, the ones that had sent her weeping and screaming to huddle in Harry's lap.

She was a child again, very small, and standing with her head craned to look up, but all she could see were flat white clouds. The air smelled like hot wood, sea salt and rum, and the floor wouldn't stay still. She fell onto her bottom. Suddenly she heard an indulgent chuckle behind her, but when she spun around she could see no one.

Immediately everything changed. She was older now, sat on a swing in utter darkness. She knew it was a swing because that's what her mother had said, but it wasn't like any other swing. She couldn't see anything except a circle of white light high above. There were faces looking down, laughing and smiling, and Meena laughed with them. Then there were shouts. The faces disappeared, the laughs became screams. Meena was afraid, very afraid. There were loud bangs, and the swing she was on began to shake violently. She clutched at the rope. Suddenly the disc of light blacked out. Something was falling. It tangled in the rope and Meena nearly fell. When she looked back up she looked into a woman's face. Upside down, horrible cold blank eyes. It was her mother.

Meena screamed and screamed. Then she woke up.

Mamma was gone, now it was Harry looking down at her. He began to straighten the sheets that were knotted around her legs.

"Those old nightmares again lass? Don't fret. There's nothing to 'em, just your head out to ruin your sleep is all." Harry smoothed Meena's hair back from her forehead. "You'll be alright in a day or two."

Meena smiled weakly back at him, and then suddenly remembered. "The boy who found me," she said quietly. "He was supposed to give you this." She held out her hand to him, still clutching the token she had been given. Harry took it carefully and smoothed it out in his own wrinkled palm.

He sighed, very heavily. "We're going to get a visitor." He said eventually. "Peter ain't going to like this. It's all going to get worse before it gets better." But then he paused, and chuckled. "Tell you what though, it'll be bloody good fun too."

Meena frowned. "It just looks like an ordinary Sparrow's feather to me."

"This particular Sparrow ain't bloody ordinary, I'll tell you that for nothing!"


	5. The Captain on Deck

_The longest chapter yet I think, but the last until my exams are over I'm afraid. I forgot to thank everyone who pointed out my error in chapter three, so thankyou, you guys shouldn't have to domy editing for me! But I'll be honest, it'll probably happen again at some point. I disclaim the mighty Cap'n Jack as well as Norrington. Thankyou all again for reading, s'laters :)_

* * *

Chapter Five: The Captain on Deck

It took a few days, but Meena got her strength back. She still feared Charlie a little though, and avoided him. Every time she saw him it made her cheeks burn with anger and shame, mostly at herself for getting so worked up about a filthy blonde pirate. To his credit, he had come to apologise the afternoon after her collapse, when she was still bedridden – Mamma wouldn't let her get up, even though she felt much better.

He sat beside her bed next to the open window, knotting his fingers and not looking directly at her. Apparently he wasn't used to listening to the demands of his conscience.

"Look Little Meena, I'm... well I said I apologised before and I do, I'm sorry. You're a proper bitch and I'm not changing my opinion of you any time soon, but you helped me. You raised the alarm and got my mates out alright. So I may not like you, but you've done alright by me and I had no call being so nasty."

Watching him Meena saw how green his eyes were in daylight, even though they weren't on her. He kept looking out of the window towards the sea, still choppy from the storm, but wide and open and blue. Sharp Charlie didn't want to be here, he wanted to be out there, free, his own master. Meena suddenly felt sorry for him

"No, you didn't need to be so mean. But I wasn't nice to you either, and you did carry me in and such, so we can call a truce. I accept your apology."

They shook hands. Sharp Charlie had very long thin fingers, and his palms were rough and calloused from a lifetime of hard work. He expressed surprise that Meena's were too. Then he saw her spoon, which Meena had removed and put on the windowsill. "That's your lucky charm isn't it? Why aren't you wearing it? Here, put it back on." As he stood up to leave, he tossed it to her.

"I don't think it's very lucky." She commented, grudgingly hanging it around her neck again. "The very day I found it _you_ arrived."

"Exactly!" Charlie laughed, spreading his arms wide as he stood in the doorway. "Just look at me! By the way," he finished as he backed out of the door, not being able to resist a parting shot. "I still don't like you, right?"

Although he had been half joking when he said it, Meena was pretty sure that last part was still holding true. Although it was easier when they were forced into each other's company, they still both preferred to go about their affairs without meeting. This morning, three days later, Meena was deemed recovered enough to go to the market. She was up bright and early, and didn't anticipate meeting Sharp Charlie on her way out, as he much preferred sleeping in late (often on account of strengthening his acquaintance with the bottom of a mug the night before). Mamma had given her a list of things that they needed, and Peter had been in a good mood so had doled out a fair amount to get it with. The streets were still relatively quiet, but Meena could hear the constant activity from the docks, and the first of the fishermen beginning to come in with their catches.

The market stalls were all set up when she arrived, ready for custom, though the market itself was only just beginning to bustle. Meena liked early mornings best, the light seemed brighter and sharper, and she herself felt more alive. On this particular morning she was more energetic than usual; having spent several days cooped up in bed she was fairly bouncing on her heels even when she stood still.

The market was set up around the town square every day, where some sellers put up their stalls under striped canopies, flicking flies away from their food, while others merely opened their doors and windows, displaying their goods on the wide sills. One such was the bakers, where Meena managed to buy loaves that were still warm to the touch. Besides the staples on Mamma's list, Meena also found she had enough left over to get salted beef, sweet potatoes and onions, and a brace of fresh sweet flying fish. By this time the market was crowded, the air full of shouts and the smell of other people's sweat mingled with spice, fish, meat and whatever else was on sale. Meena began slipping through the crowd, making sure to keep one eye on her basket of food and the other on her purse. But this meant she didn't have an eye free to spot the soldiers moving towards her from different corners of the market.

The first Meena knew of it was when a gloved hand clamped over her mouth. She was grasped firmly under the elbows and pulled backwards, heels dragging in the dust, into a side street. They took a couple of turns and went down another side street before Meena found herself in a grimy alleyway, the noise of the market a distant hum. The buildings rose tall around her, so tall that the sky seemed like a thin blue ribbon winding above her, casting little or no light down. Nobody seemed to have noticed anything or, if they had, didn't want to get involved. She was staring down four redcoats, their jackets dimmed to the colour of blood in the half light, the barrels of their rifles glinting in the same dangerous way as their eyes.

One of them, carrying a corporal's chevrons on his sleeve, spat on the floor in an absent minded way, then swung his gun down from his shoulder and leant it on the wall. He drew his bayonet slowly and ran a thumb along the blade, the whole time looking straight at Meena. She felt her pulse quicken and tightened the grip she had on her wicker shopping basket.

"Listen love," he began. "Everyone's tired. Norrington, well he's tired 'cos there're still some fugitives on the run what haven't been caught yet. And _we're_ tired 'cos we've had to keep watch on a bloody run down shite-hole tavern for the last few weeks to see who goes in an' out. He's putting pressure on me, y'see, to get _results_. And I've got fuck all for him, you understand?" The corporal took a step closer. He stank of old tobacco and cheap whiskey.

"Now we're going to sort this out right now, you hear me Little Meena? Oh yes, I know who you are an' all. And I reckon you _know, _see? So you tell me where those bloody pirates are, or I'll have to ask again, nasty like." He pressed the bayonet against her throat.

"I don't know where they are." Meena squeaked. "Bugger off!"

The corporal laughed nastily. "What a shame you had to be so rude, Little Meena. Understand me now; I won't shirk from using any means necessary to get what I want from you..." He pressed himself uncomfortably close, so close Meena could feel his hot breath on her face. She pushed her shoulder blades back into the wall as if she could disappear into it, but the corporal was already forcing her legs apart. He was trying to pull the shopping basket, which she had clutched in front of her like a shield, out of the way. Meena felt the blind panic beginning to swamp her, but had enough sense left to listen to her instincts. She brought her knee up. Hard.

The corporal made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sigh and collapsed in on himself, falling to the floor. The other redcoats' expressions went from voyeuristic smirks to scowls as Meena turned the shopping basket from a passive shield into an avenging weapon. Bringing it up in a double-handed swing she landed it squarely in the nearest soldiers face. Kicking out blindly she managed to connect with something hard, possibly a kneecap, and turned to catch her breath. The last soldier standing had bent over with his arms over his head, to ward off the brief shower of fish that had rained down on him, but he straightened up and caught her eye as the corporal pulled himself to his knees.

"Well go on, bloody get her!" he yelled, but Meena had already hitched up her skirts and started away.

Meena had several talents to claim as her own. She could toss nuts high in the air and catch them in her mouth, at least four times out of five anyway. She could crack all the knuckles in her left hand and make Harry wince when she did it. But what Little Meena was best at was turning tail and running. Even now she could hear the soldier's running footsteps dropping away behind her, as she jinked and dodged around corners, using posts to swing round without losing momentum and twisting past people in the street. The straw-strewn ground fairly flew beneath her as she fled without looking back.

After ten solid minutes of running like this, Meena ducked down into an alley to lean against the wall and catch her breath. Down at the other end of the alley she could see a mass of different greens, moving softly in a breeze she couldn't yet feel. Realising that she had reached the edge of town and was looking into Jamaican jungle, Meena decided to cut through it rather than walk back through the streets. She was fairly sure that she had lost her pursuers by now, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The fringes of the jungle were fairly sparse this close to Port Royal and Meena judged it wouldn't be too hard to get through.

Not that it was easy either. She almost tripped on roots more than once, and her hair and clothes snagged on twigs and leaves. Despite this Meena enjoyed the walk. The air was cleaner outside of the town centre, carrying a little more of the sea breeze, and she was able to collect some wild callaloo spinach for Mamma, to make up for losing her shopping. Eventually Meena saw the Black Rabbit's chimney, and a little later paused on the edge of a short stretch of scrubby grass, at the other side of which was the Rabbit's back door and a pile of thoroughly chopped wood. She was about to take another step forward when a shrub just behind her hissed.

"Psst!"

"What? Hello?" she said aloud, looking around

"Hey, c'mere won't you?" The shrub shuddered gently and a grubby nut-brown hand appeared to beckon her over. Meena approached and squatted cautiously beside it. There was a man crouched in a similar position behind it. He grinned lopsidedly at her, showing several gold teeth.

"Oh hell's teeth, another bloody pirate!" Meena burst out, slightly involuntarily. "Well that's all we need. And just who are you?"

"Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow actually." He said happily, in a voice that had arrived in Port Royal via London and half of the entire world.

"Oh really?" Meena replied, looking him up and down. "In the market for a ship are we, Captain?"

"Funny you should mention that, but yes, my other was misappropriated." He played idly with the twin plaits of his beard as Meena rolled her eyes. " _Anyway_ I wanted to stop you going in there just yet. There's some fancy man with very shiny buttons shouting at everyone inside; I'm of the opinion he's with the King's Navy and I'd very much like to avoid him."

Meena thought for a second. "Me too." She said shuffling to hide beside him. They sat in silence for a minute, and Meena was able to size up Captain Jack. His dreadlocks were longer and more impressive than Sharp Charlie's. For one thing Charlie didn't have anything woven into them, whereas Jack had jewellery, beads, shells, and what looked like a long splinter of bone hanging down from his head, which was crowned by a battered leather tri cornered hat. His large greying coat obscured most of the rest of him from where he was crouched, although she could see brown boots with wide, high turn downs. The sword hanging from his shoulder was obviously giving Jack some small measure of trouble; it kept catching on the ground when he moved.

Meena rocked on her heels a little, impatient. She broke the silence."Why do you paint your eyes up like a girl?"

Jack turned to look at her disdainfully. His eyes were liquid brown and creased with laughter lines. They were also indeed lined thickly around in smudged black.

"Like a back alley tart." Meena added thoughtfully. Jack sighed exaggeratedly.

"No doubt you haven't travelled the world much, miss," he said, with an air of self importance." If you were a cultured person such as myself you'd have known that kohl under the eyes prevents glare from the sun when adventuring on the high seas. So shut up." Meena rolled her eyes again, then began to scuttle crab-wise, low to the ground, up to the back door. There was a low cry of "Don't do anything stupid!" from behind her, which she ignored.

She unlatched the door softly and crept the length of the kitchen on her hands and knees. Luckily the door into the bar had been left ajar, so Meena was able to look cautiously through at the scene inside. Sharp Charlie was leaning against the back wall behind the bar cleaning under his nails with a knife. Mamma and Harry were quietly playing cards in the corner and Peter was standing with both hands planted squarely on the bar itself. The scene would have been normal enough had Peter not been almost nose to nose with Norrington, while several redcoats stood in various positions approaching attention around the room.

"Don't think you can hide this from us forever man!" Norrington growled. Peter kept his voice infuriatingly calm.

"And I say, once again, that I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Now I believe you said you had to oversee the preparations of your ship?"

Norrington pointed a finger shaking with rage. "You will get what you deserve sir. Make no mistake about that. I may be out chasing pirates and rum runners, but the East India Trading Company will be paying a visit to Port Royal in my absence. Watch how you go." He glared at Charlie, who smiled and waved in reply, before swinging about and striding away.

"Come on men, move out!" They did. The atmosphere returned to the relaxed norm. Meena stood up and skipped out to the back door again, beckoning frantically towards the tip of Jack's hat, which she could just make out behind his shrub.

He stood and came forwards. Jack Sparrow, Meena noted with interest, walked like a man who felt the ground roll underneath him like a ship in a storm. Either that or a professional drunkard. She half expected him to fall over. She also noticed that his trousers were as old and greying as his coat, and that he belted his waistcoat, not only with two belts, but also a length of red and white cloth. He dressed like a man who carried all his memories about his person. When he stepped into the bar a number of shouts were raised.

"Peter!" Jack cried, opening his arms.

"Jack!" Harry shouted, joyfully pushing his chair back.

"Harry!" returned Jack, stepping forwards.

"Jack..." Peter moaned, aware of trouble ahead.

"Sparrow!" Charlie roared, dropping his knife.

"Sharp?!" Jack exclaimed, managing to widen his eyes and frown at the same time. He began to skip backwards away from Charlie, who was advancing with a scowl on his face. Eventually Jack broke into a run around the bar, trying to put chairs and tables in Charlie's way.

"So, I was nearly raped by a redcoat and lost the shopping."Meena called, to anyone who would listen.

She was interrupted by a loud thump. Sharp Charlie had taken a running dive and tackled Jack to the floor. Meena started laughing uncontrollably.


End file.
